This Ain't A Fairy Tale
by BeatlesChick
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. One year after Sherlock's death, his friends are doing their best to move on with their lives. At Lestrade's request, Adrianna Davis returns to London to help solve a puzzling series of murders, John at her side. When the man she's secretly loved for years returns from the dead, they get drawn into a deadly game with a dangerous new enemy. Sherlock/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hi! This is my first attempt at writing a _Sherlock_ story. It's primarily a romance, but I'm going to do my best to write an interesting case/adventure for the characters as well. This OC and loose threads of this story have been floating around my brain for ages now, and I figured it was time to give it a shot. I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything related to BBC's _Sherlock, _or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories.

...

I stand back as John says his final goodbye to the man who was so important to us both. Gazing at him standing in front of the fresh grave another wave of tears escapes from my eyes and I raise a shaky hand to wipe them away. A few minutes later John finishes up and walks over to me.

"Did you want to...?" he asks awkwardly.

I shake my head. "Not right now. I think I'll come back later. Privacy, you know." I don't tell him that's only half the truth, that I don't think I could handle it right now without breaking down completely. That my heart is shattered beyond repair and it's all I can do to keep the rest of me from shattering with it.

"Right, of course," John replies.

We stand in silence for a long moment before I slip my hand into John's and squeeze; he tightens his fingers almost painfully around mine and, both giving one last look at the headstone, we turn and walk away.

...

_Twelve months later_

"Adrianna?"

A small smile crosses my face at John's surprised tone; this is hardly the first time he's come home to find I've broken into the flat, but he's always surprised. John never notices the signs, not like Sherlock used to.

I feel a pang as I think of Sherlock, same as every time he crosses my mind. It's been a year since he died, but I still miss him terribly. I'll probably never stop.

Rising from the sofa, I cross the room and embrace John. "Good to see you again."

He returns the hug. "You too. What are you doing here? When I talked to you last week you were in Egypt."

"Lestrade called me. Said it was important."

John raises an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't helping them anymore."

I shrug. "I did refuse initially. But he's apologized so many times, and I can tell he's being sincere. He really does regret what happened."

We both fall silent for a moment, and I know the events of a year ago are running through John's mind as well. Then I shake it off and wink cheekily at him.

"Plus, the few details he gave me were just _so_ interesting. Want to come with?"

John hesitates. "I've got a proper job now, and I haven't done anything like that since..."

I interrupt him before he can put that life-shattering event into words. "Alright John. First off, I know you miss it. And second, you don't have anywhere you need to go today. Now, I can tell you exactly how I know those things, or you can save us both the time and just agree to come with me." I smirk. "Because we both know you're going to anyway."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, huffs, and shrugs his shoulders before finally nodding. "Fine, Anna, I'll come with you. You happy now?"

"Happier," I reply, slipping on my coat. "Let's go."

...

One short taxi ride later John and I walk into Scotland Yard and tread the familiar path to Lestrade's office. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead and ignore all the looks we're receiving from the assembled officers; I don't particularly want to speak to any of them. Reaching Lestrade's office I knock and then, without waiting for a response, open the door and stride in with John right behind me.

"This better be good, Detective Inspector," I say. "You dragged me all the way from Cairo."

Lestrade looks up from his desk. "What were you doing in Cairo?"

"Business," I reply vaguely. "Why am I here?"

"Because I need help, and you're the only person I could think to turn to."

The unspoken implication hangs heavy in the air between us; everyone present knows that I wouldn't have been his first choice, if he'd had a choice. Partly because I can be so hard to track down, partly because I'm just not quite as good as he was. I can come close, but no one was as good as Sherlock Holmes.

"Right," I say, choosing not to comment on it. "What have you got?"

Lestrade slides a file across the desk. "Serial killer. Two bodies in two weeks, both killed by a severe morphine overdose."

I pick up the folder and flick it open, but keep my gaze on Lestrade. "Two murders isn't enough to call it serial."

"Take a look at that, and try to tell me there won't be more."

I shift my gaze to the file in my hands, flipping through the photos and notes inside. After a couple of minutes I pass it to John and sit down across from Lestrade.

"Okay, you're right," I say to the DI. "This guy is not finished. What else have you got?"

"Not much," Lestrade replies. "That's why I called you in."

I stand back up. "I'll need to see the bodies."

...

Two hours later I walk out of the morgue at Bart's, followed by John and Lestrade; John and I examined the bodies of the two young women, but hadn't come up with anything of use. Too much time has passed and too many people have gone over the bodies.

"Unfortunately, Greg, there's not much I can do until the killer strikes again," I say to Lestrade. "Much as I hate to say it, I need a fresh crime scene."

He sighs. "That's what I was afraid of. Thanks anyway, Anna. I'll be in touch."

He walks off and John and I head back to Baker Street to go over the case files again, hoping some realization will pop out at us to move things along.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Hi again! I'm really pleased with the amount of readers, follows and favourites this story has already! I would really love to hear what you think though; drop me a review please? So still no Sherlock in this chapter, but I'm building up to his return real quick. Promise :) I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything related to BBC's _Sherlock, _or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories.

...

"Fairy tales."

John looks up from his laptop. "What's that?"

I turn away from where we've stuck the crime scene photos to the wall and meet his questioning gaze. "Fairy tales. These women look like they've stepped out of fairy tales."

I beckon to John and he comes over to stand next to me. "Look at them. At first it just seems like the killer fixed them up nice, but look closer."

"I'm still not sure what you mean," John says, inspecting the photographs.

"The details, John!" I exclaim. "Look at the details!"

He glances at me with narrowed eyes. "You sound like Sherlock."

A small smirk quirks up my lips. "Thank you."

Rolling his eyes, John returns his attention to the photos. "I didn't mean it as a compliment," he mutters.

"Well, that's how I'm taking it," I reply with a laugh. "Now seriously, look."

"Yes, yes, I'm looking," John grumbles. I wait impatiently for several minutes as John squints at the photographs before I swat him on the arm.

"Hey!" he shouts, looking offended. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You were taking too long."

"You couldn't have just said so?" he grouches, rubbing his arm.

I roll my eyes. "Stop being an infant, I didn't hit you that hard."

He smiles slightly. "I'm still not sure how you figure they're fairy tale characters."

"The first one is Little Red Riding Hood," I say, pointing. "The red jumper with the hood drawn up, the basket left next to her, and," I pause, reaching for the notes Lestrade gave us, "they found canine hairs on her clothes."

"She could have had a pet dog," John says.

"Possibly, except that the hairs were only found on the jumper, not on the rest of her clothing, and they were just on the front. A few dog hairs, on only one article of clothing, in one specific place. No way they came from regular interaction with a dog. They were placed there by her killer."

John nods. "Alright, I'm with you. What about her?"

"The second victim is the princess from Princess and the Pea. She's wearing what looks like an expensive dress, and was found lying on top of three mattresses. Not quite as many as in the story, but enough that I'm sure that's what it's supposed to represent. I should tell Lestrade."

I pluck my mobile from the table and send a text.

_Murders are modeled after fairy tales. Red Riding Hood, Princess and the Pea_. -_AD_

With nothing else we can do for now, John and I sit down to catch up and are soon joined by Mrs Hudson. After about an hour my phone rings. The caller ID tells me it's Lestrade.

I answer the call. "Yes?"

"Adrianna, we've found another one."

I nod, grabbing my coat from the sofa. "Text me the address."

...

John and I follow a uniformed officer under the police tape and into a large ballroom, where we find Lestrade standing over the body along with Anderson and Donovan. I sigh deeply; dealing with those two is the last thing I want to do. I stride briskly to Lestrade's side and cross my arms over my chest.

"Get them out of here," I snap, jerking my head towards Donovan and Anderson.

Lestrade heaves a sigh. "Anna..."

"I won't work with them. Either they go, or I do."

"Still hung up on the freak?"

It takes all my willpower to keep from turning and punching Donovan. As it is, I glance over my shoulder and fix her with a piercing glare before turning back to Lestrade.

"Get her out of here before I rearrange her face," I growl.

Lestrade closes his eyes briefly, as if praying for patience, then turns his attention to Anderson and Donovan. "I'm sorry, you two, you need to go so she can have a look."

At once, both Donovan and Anderson start protesting loudly.

"You're kicking us out?"

" - can't believe you're turning back to the freaks - "

" - unfair, it's our job, not hers!"

"You'll regret it when she turns on you too, just like - "

"ENOUGH!"

Lestrade's shout stops their tirade. He points to the door.

"Both of you, clear off now!"

Giving me dirty looks, Anderson and Donovan exit the ballroom, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Lestrade turns to me with a sigh.

"I wish you wouldn't put me in that position."

"I know. Sorry," I reply. "But they were difficult even before, and I just can't handle them now."

Lestrade places a hand on my shoulder. "I probably shouldn't have had them in here."

"Don't worry about it. Let's just get on with it, shall we?" I motion to John; we both put on gloves and kneel down to inspect the body.

"Looks like she was killed same way as the others," John says. "Toxicology will probably show a morphine overdose."

"No defensive wounds, just like the first two," I add. "They either knew their attacker or he's someone who doesn't seem like a threat. A stranger they'd trust. Then he incapacitates them before they have a chance to fight back."

Lestrade pipes up. "He must be taking them somewhere isolated, because no one's reported seeing anything suspicious."

John gently lifts the dead woman's head and looks at the back of her neck. "Look here. A needle mark on her neck as well as one on her arm. He's drugging them to knock them out, then a second time to kill them."

"Probably taking them to a second location to kill them," I say. "Has there been evidence of sexual assault?"

"No," Lestrade answers. "No evidence of assault of any kind. Aside from murder, of course."

There is a long pause while I continue to examine the scene. "She certainly wasn't killed here. So we have an abduction site, a kill site and a dump site. And a killer who managed to get in here undetected, with a body." I look at Lestrade. "Isn't there any security in this place?"

He flips through his notes. "The whole building has been closed for renovations for the past month. They're also updating the surveillance system, so everything's offline. The contractors discovered the body when they showed up for work this morning."

I go back to inspecting the body. "Cinderella," I mutter after a moment.

Lestrade looks up from his notes. "What?"

"Cinderella," I repeat. "Don't you see it? The ballroom, the gown, and she's only wearing one shoe. You didn't notice that?"

"We did notice the missing shoe, but couldn't it have just fallen off? He did transport the body from elsewhere," Lestrade says.

I shake my head. "No. Really look at her. Everything is meticulous, every detail. Her hair is perfectly styled, her dress unwrinkled, her nails clean and manicured. The only reason she'd be missing a shoe is because the killer wanted her to be missing a shoe."

"Because she's Cinderella."

"Exactly. We need to find that shoe."

Lestrade and John look at me. "You think it's here?" John asks.

"Of course it's here! He's evolving. The first two murders were fairly subtle in mimicking their stories, but this one is unmistakable. That shoe has to be here somewhere."

I glance around; it's obvious that the stray shoe isn't in this room, there's nowhere for it to go unnoticed. But I have a hunch where I'll find it. Turning on my heel I stride briskly from the ballroom back into the cavernous entryway of the building. Ignoring the dirty looks from Anderson and Donovan, I hurry over to the wide, sweeping staircase that leads to the upper floor and bound up it, two stairs at a time. At the top I stop with a grin.

"Up here!" I call down to Lestrade and John, who followed me into the entryway. "One no-longer-missing shoe."

I know I should wait for the police to photograph the shoe, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I reach out with a gloved hand to pick it up. I frown; it's strangely heavy. As John and Lestrade reach the top of the stairs I turn the shoe upside down and a small ceramic apple falls into my outstretched palm.

"What's that?"

I hand the tiny apple to Lestrade.

He raises an eyebrow. "What does an apple have to do with Cinderella?"

"Nothing at all," I answer. "It's a clue. He's leading us to his next murder." I pause, looking back at the shoe. "There's something else in here."

I poke a finger into the shoe and fish around for a moment, pulling out a folded piece of paper. Passing the shoe to John I unfold the paper and read it out loud:

_"Deep into the woods I go,_

_My lips blood red, skin white as snow._

_Find me there where I now dwell,_

_Before I say my last farewell."_

Lestrade frowns. "What is this? Is he taunting us?"

I stare off into space, my mind racing. "He's playing a game," I reply slowly. "He knows we've connected all the murders, and now he's playing with us. It increases the satisfaction he gets from killing. Trying to outsmart us."

"So, he sees the next victim as Snow White," says John.

I nod, snapping from my trance and standing up. "We need to get to Bart's. See what else we can get from the items he left us. A woman's life could depend on it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took me so long to post! Next chapter will be up quicker, I promise; I'm really excited for the next one. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, alerting and favouriting. I hope you enjoy and pretty please let me know what you think?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything related to BBC's _Sherlock, _or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories.

After several hours in the lab at Bart's John and I, with Molly's help, have managed to narrow down the possibilities to two forested areas just outside London. It's far from perfect, but it's better than what we had a few hours ago. At least that's what I keep telling myself; combing two huge chunks of forest for a missing girl could take ages, possibly longer than she has left.

I pull out my mobile and text Lestrade the information we've uncovered. A few minutes later he texts back.

_I'm putting search teams on it right away. Keep you posted. -GL_

_Thanks. Good luck. -AD_

With a sigh I stand up from my seat at the microscope and stretch my stiff muscles. John and I say goodbye to Molly and leave the hospital.

"I hate waiting around," I mumble as we get out of a cab at Baker Street.

"We've done all we can for now," John replies.

"I hope it was enough."

John nods. "Me too."

I fidget and pace around the flat for a few hours before I can't take it anymore. Plus I'm likely driving John mental. I need to go out for a while, clear my head. Walking always helps.

"I'm going for a walk," I announce. John looks up from his newspaper and nods.

"Alright, text me if you hear from Lestrade."

"Sure. See you in a while."

I put on my coat and bound down the stairs, waving to Mrs Hudson as I exit the building. Night is beginning to fall; the police are going to have to stop the search soon as they lose the light. I know they'll resume first thing in the morning, but I worry that it will be too late. We're probably going to find another girl dead.

Sighing heavily, I wander aimlessly through the streets. I bet Sherlock could have figured out something to narrow the search field further; he'd likely have rushed off to find the girl himself, dragging John and I with him. A small, wistful smile crosses my lips. I was always much more impulsive around him. You had to be, to keep up with Sherlock Holmes.

My heart clenches painfully as thoughts of Sherlock race through my mind; I miss him so damn much. Without his brilliance, the world seems a much darker place. He was so much more than a good friend; he was the only man I ever loved, and I never worked up the nerve to tell him so.

Physically shaking my head to clear Sherlock out of it, I stop and check my watch. I'm surprised to find I've been walking for nearly two hours. I check my phone; still no word from Lestrade. Just as I'm putting the mobile back in my pocket it buzzes with a text.

_Calling it off for the night. Too dark. Will start up again at dawn. -GL_

I sigh, sending a quick reply.

_Right. Let me know the second you find anything. -AD_

Stuffing the phone back into my pocket I turn around and begin the long walk back to Baker Street. I've only been walking a few minutes when another text comes through.

_Anna, come back to the flat. Now. -JW_

Puzzled, my fingers fly across the keys.

_Why? Is something wrong? Are you and Mrs Hudson alright? -AD_

_We're fine. Can't explain, it's better if you see for yourself. Just come. -JW_

_John, you're worrying me. -AD_

_Don't worry. Please, just come back. -JW_

Feeling very worried despite John telling me not to, I wave down a cab and hurriedly give the address. Once the car is moving I send another text.

_Be there soon. You'd better be okay. -AD_

After several minutes with no reply from John my anxiety worsens. I wonder what could possibly be so urgent that he needs me back at the flat right away; it can't be the case, or he would have just said so. Something must be very wrong.

The cab ride seems to take forever, and by the time the car finally pulls up outside 221B my nerves are badly frayed. I give some notes to the driver with trembling hands and practically leap out of the car, only vaguely aware that I have given the cabbie a ridiculously large tip. Wrenching open the front door I run up the stairs and burst into the flat. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock I receive upon stepping inside.

There, sitting on the sofa as if he never left, is Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
